The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1887-05-07

Inc lauleS ulu nOU stay long, Tor the |
knew young Vintons time was not his ow, |
but even in those brief moments Lindss
saw enough to convince her that his tale, |
was something unusual. AS they we,
leaving, she said: 81 can now only expres
approval of your determination to STUD.
If may not otherwise assist you, at leat
you will accept some letters to artists
note, who may be of use to you at Paris. /
is always best to carry introductions."
''That will be a great favor" he replid
| earnestly; land, believe me, l shall alwas
be grateful"
The next week strange faces looked OF
from Lindsay's windows. Soon after a
sudden and early frost bnghted the autum
flowers and scattered the brilliant autum
leaves. A dull look settled over hill ad
dale, and when Arthur Vinton turned fora
| last look at the familiar valley, lately briat
Nth summer bloom and summer sun, Is
wintry dreariness reminded him of the ell
shadow which had quenched the light Of
| his own young life.
|
Three years later Paris in May The
white streets are whittier still where he
clear sunshine falls, and the great eirdes
around the fountains are gay and SWEET
with pansies, myosotis or lilies of the ul-
| ley. White hlacs fill the flower stads
with their pale beauty and faint fragrane.
so associated with springtime at the ay
capital. n
The Salon is crowded with visitors, afa
little group is collected around a pai1t'g
which seems to attract universal attenton'
Mrs. Clarke and Lindsay Bell saunter are
lessly about, awaiting their turn with scne
curiosity to discover what is the attrscph'
"Do YOU know the subject, Lindsay
| Mrs. Bell refers to her catalogue.
''No 20. "A Moonlight Parting.v
| Before she notes the artists mar the
group disperses and they step up see
what2 A desolate hillside, witbhlgher
hills beyond; sunken graves; fallestones;
brambles and fiery tiger-lilies. onder
densely dark cedar tree stand an and a
| woman hand-in-hand; deep, glstly shad-
ows lie around them; paltmoonllght
makes it clear enough to s. that the
woman is of lovely form and Ptures, that
the man is fair and young. nat the part
ing is hopeless and forever, te may easily
| divine.
The twoufriends stand befe the picture
as the others have done, asf spellbound.
''It is most fascinating and some way
| feel as if l had been thre." says Mrs.
Clarke musingly. II muslhave seen some
place like it somewhere and from the
depth of the autumn colcng seen so DIS
tinctly throughthe half -ght, should say
the scene was in Americs Don't you think
so, Lindsay?"
Lindsay's eyes are ,oftly shining, her
voice shakes little as,he answers. Eyes,
you have seen 1.-THE I'D cemetery at Reve-
ville-and, see here, the artists name is
Arthur Vinton."
Mrs. Clarke drops her gold-5ound psnce-
nez in surprise not inmingled with alarm.
THAT young mechanic, the errand boy you
employed to carry your clay! Is it posi-
BILE! Well, well, tbs is indeed republican
age, when potters urn into artists and have
pictures hung in the Salonn'
'tOh! Minnie, don't be nonsensical,"
laughs her friend, lightly. "Have you for
gotten all the list of celebrities who were
not by any means born in the purple! l
wonder if he will call! 1 shall send our
cards and address to-day. am most anxious
to see him.
Mrs. Clarke murmurs indistinct disap-
prevail while ahe studies the canvas
''Others are waiting says Lindsay con-
siderately; 'let us move on and come back
after while"
'But these figures remind me of-of-you,
and the-I hesitate to express it-but really,
my dear, the artist seems to have pictured
himself as parting from you!"
perhaps you are right" replied Mrs.
Bell quietly, 'as thought noticed it too
Surely, Lindsay-r'
"Well, Minnie!'
SIS this q scene from life! memory!n
'Partly 80, l admit; but the artist, as is
usual with the craft has idealized it a little,
thrown in a touch of telling sentiment in
the attitudes, and all that. There, Minnie,
don't fret. He is very likely the pet lion of
Paris just now, and if he goes on as he has
begun, he will continue to be. l feel very
pleased at his success
Mrs. Clarke finds nothing more to say
and when, in speedy answer to the invita-
ton, Mr.. Vinton calls, and she meets him
at all the best houses on the Faubourg St.
German, as well as on Avenue Villiers and
by Pare Monceau, she conveniently forgets
the shabby pottery, with it's big chimneys,
and altogether refuses to remember that
the yellow-halred young workman and the
fair, pose, even distinguished gentleman,
whose presence is sought as favor, are
one and the same.
Lindsay, too, is beginning to lose one
identity in the other; but Mr.. Vinton never
forgets. He is courteous, attentive, always
ready to escort the ladies here or there: but
he never establishes himself e, ami i,atin,e,
and retires quietly when any one else is
there to take his place. At last Lindsay be-
gins to feel this, and she is sorry for it, Her
manner grows kinder; but he does not ad-
vance an inch. The round of gayety con-
tinues without cessation until there comes
a rainy day. 1t is no ordinary blossom
storm, but rather a tempest; the wind
drives by wailing and bowling like hurri-
cane. The trees writhe and bend, and the
gay parterres are hopelessly spoiled; pansies,
myosotis, and fragrant lilies of the valley
are beaten into the mud beyond all recog-
milton.
Mrs. Clarke is laid up with migraine, and
Lindsay sits alone in her pretty drawing
room, consoling herself as she can by a
bright wood fire. with books and work; but
she feels dull After living out of doors SO
much she finds whole days confinement
insupportable. She is yawning dismally
when Mr.. Vinton is announced, and she re-
coives him with an exclamation of Joy.
81 know the dullness of rainy day in
this city," he says pleasantly, land so have
come to try to beguile your ennui; for you
must admit that you were esntyee l saw
it plainly from your rapture at my appear
ance."
II was little bored, to be sure" she
confeSses naiyely; "but | am ALWAYS glad